Sun
by alation
Summary: An attempt on the Fire Nation Prince's life opens the Avatar's eyes to different kind of adventure. An elite underground, an admiral's deceptions, a tricky spirit, and a test of Aang's newfound duties as peacekeeper all twist into the tale of Sun.
1. Assassination

I now disclaim: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

A Note from the Author: Reviews are welcome, but flames and trolls will get the boot. The story is a work in progress. The entire thing will take place before the season finale and sometime after the episode Bato of the Water Tribe. I need to re-watch the series to place the exact timeframe, but suffice it to say that the gAang hasn't reached the North Pole yet. Thank you all for time, I hope you enjoy! (My apologies also to China, for this butchery of their historical events. It's only loosely based on them….)

**Chapter One: Assassination**

Zuko's eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, hands curling into fists at his sides. His eyes grew wide as they strained to see, his spit acrid with adrenaline. Every muscle had been instantly tense and sweating from the moment he had sensed the heat of an intruder's breath. Zuko look from side to side, noting the absence of candlelight. Steady ferocity kept him balanced as he rose to crouch on the bed. He swayed expertly in time with the rise and fall of waves beneath his ship.

"Reveal yourself!" It was an empty command and he knew it, meant to provoke alarm in his opponent. The intruder was not taken by surprise, however, or if he was he masked any slip-up well. Zuko heard nothing.

He inhaled slowly, searching out the quiet pulses of the candles' wicks. Even unlighted they kept the memory of flame and radiance. If they had been removed completely then his attacker would be on guard for Firebending and Zuko would be unable to surprise him with an assault. He felt nothing; they were gone. His time was running out. If it was an assassin or one of his crew they would know him well enough to be wary of his first, rage-driven hits. Zuko considered his options swiftly and realized that his adversary's delay meant that he had wanted his victim asleep at the moment of killing, and that his waking had disrupted any plans for a quiet murder.

Dragging a breath through gritted teeth, Zuko whipped up his arms to shield his throat and tilted his head back, exhaling a spume of fire from deep in his chest.

The room lit and Zuko reverted instantly to a ready stance, drawing his hands before his eyes with his fingers outstretched. The intruder – a white and red mask hiding his face - leapt from the floor, and two pulses of fire shot from Zuko's fists. Both missed, deflected by the assassin's blade. His posture as he fell and the placement of his defenses bespoke knowledge of Firebending tactics. Determined to hold the higher ground, Zuko leaned to the left as the sword descended towards his chest and pivoted – his kick landing with a thud on the man's chest.

Zuko balanced with his elbows and knees bent, looking to see where his rival had landed. Darkness encased his sight as the last of his fire breath flickered out. A fist smashed into his cheek and he was thrown from the bed, disoriented by the dimness and confused by the echo his contact with the ground sent ringing through the metal floor. Zuko had lost his advantage over the armed man. He recovered swiftly, hands held ready to parry an attack and his feet spread wide. Although he was loath to give up any more ground to his opponent, he knew that the middle of the room was a weak position. Senses on high alarm, Zuko backed towards what he believed was a wall and stopped just as his heel scraped its cold steel. Now all he needed was light.

His fire breath was short-lived and the control he needed to keep smoke from becoming a by-product would not be found in the wrath he used to fuel it. He needed his hands for the attack and keeping them lit would only further disable him. Zuko adjusted his stance and advanced with measured finesse two steps forward, sweeping his arm back. He arched low to the ground, whipping up a flame that churned from his hand and spewed steadily into the room. His bed, placed roughly near where he had believed it to be, caught and blazed to life.

Zuko's pupils contracted against the sudden light and pure impulse caused him to jerk to the side. His throat closed as the blade sliced into his upper arm, missing his heart. He steeled himself against a damp prickling sensation and drove himself into a counterattack.

With the room lit, Zuko could keep his weapon-toting adversary at bay as long as he kept the combat close. Using quick bolts of flame and spiraling punches, he dodged sword strokes made sluggish by their proximity and aimed for the bottom of the man's ribcage. He relied on the speed his opponent lacked, fiercely driving his adversary into a desperate defensive.

_An intense scowl was carved in Zuko's brow and his chest heaved to draw breath. The masked man's attacks were disturbingly infrequent and harmless, yet he felt fatigued – more so than he should. Something was not right._

Taking advantage of his would-be victim's momentary pause, the intruder stiffened, crouched, and pounced backwards, twisting in the air to land facing the door. Zuko immediately pressed forward, igniting his fists and throwing balls of flame towards the retreating back. Though he dodged them, the man lost time in throwing himself at the door and heaving it open, giving Zuko enough opportunity to come close, gather his strength, and whip his leg through the air. The kick burst into flames upon contact and muscle slammed into the side of the mask, crunching the pottery and sending the man tumbling into the opposite wall. He crumpled with a wheezing groan.

Zuko's pulled his shoulders back, letting his breath calm before clenching his teeth and striding over to his would-be assassin. The pottery of the mask's right cheek had been cracked into three pieces and few errant chunks had made shallow cuts in the man's skin. A stream of blood dribbled down his jaw. Zuko crouched, judging him to be at least unconscious, and reached out to uncover the rest of the man's features. Zuko kept his other hand firmly balled at his side, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

"Let's see who you are."

Zuko's frowned deepened as the mask slipped away. It was an Earth Kingdom face – angular with brown bangs and a high bun.

How had he gotten on the ship?

Zuko bowed his head slightly, an irate grimace reflecting his thoughts. He held the remainder of the mask carefully and stood, turning briskly on his heel and stalking from the room. The door's heavy lock slammed into place behind him.

The bed whined and something snapped, the flame mounting like a funeral pyre. The man did not stir.


	2. Deception

**Chapter Two: Deception**

"Uncle."

Iroh's eyes slid amiably from the game board before him, smiling as his nephew came onto the main deck.

"Prince Zuko, please come closer. I would like you to see how I am about to trounce our good friend here in a game of Pai Sho." Iroh recognized the edge in Zuko's next words, though they were warily composed.

"Uncle, there is a man you need to meet. Come." It was not a request.

Iroh shifted, calmly stroking his beard as he contemplated the board. He waited a moment, hummed softly, and then looked back up, smiling widely at the sailor across from him.

"I am sorry, friend, but I must ask that we resume this game later." He tilted his head to the side lightheartedly. "Unless, of course, you wish to simply give up now. There are few who could hope to match the play I have in mind!" The sailor returned his general's smile and shook his head. Iroh shrugged and left the table, nodding in recognition when the sailor stood in respect. The door's heavy bolts thundered behind them.

Zuko's demeanor changed to that of a predator become prey – wary, tense, and experienced. Iroh felt his instincts adjusting to the unknown threat.

"Uncle, is there anyone around?" Iroh's gaze shifted from his nephew to the surrounding halls, acutely aware that Zuko did not wish to reveal the height of his concern. Iroh felt an unease that kept him on his guard. The pace Zuko set was rushed and his steps clipped, as if he expected an attack from the very sky.

_Perhaps he did._

Iroh tucked his hands into his sleeves and bowed his head, his words imperceptible to all but his nephew. "Is this news of the Avatar, Prince Zuko?" If it was, Zuko's silent command for secrecy when they were on board the deck did not make sense. In the two years they had been searching for the Avatar, Zuko had grown accustomed to not concealing information from the crew. Something must have happened to make him so suspicious now.

Zuko's voice was similarly low. "No, Uncle… I'm not sure."

Iroh nodded slightly, leaving silence between them.

The room was dark when they reached it. Iroh took in the burning bed impassively, letting Zuko present the unconscious man. As Zuko gave him the mask and detailed the fight Iroh remained silent, the firelight playing off of the amber in his eyes. Neither spoke for a while after Zuko finished.

"Uncle?" Zuko was watching his uncle closely.

"…. Prince Zuko… We must now tread carefully the path of the sun…" Iroh trailed off and did not look at his nephew, his disquieted gaze on the mask.

Impatiently balling his fists at this ridiculously vague piece of "wisdom," Zuko snorted and returned to examining the intruder for any signs of identification.

Iroh paid little mind to the ire of his adolescent charge. He knew the mask… But he had never expected to find one on his ship, or anywhere outside of the Fire Nation. The white clay used to shape the face was crude and unrefined. Small, unprofessional mistakes were evident to any Fire Nation eye that had seen such similar masks since youth.

_A white mask._ The color of deceit.

He turned the mask in his hands, waiting for Zuko to finish his inspection. Iroh knew there was no reason for him to be here until the assassin woke up, but his nephew had wanted him here anyway. When Zuko had looked at him earlier there had been a certain sharpness in his golden eyes… expectant, aware. Iroh rubbed the edge of the mask, feeling the grains of raw earth rolling beneath his fingers. Someone not from the Fire Nation had created this mask. Something in Iroh urged him to keep silent.

Zuko was just a boy, after all. He didn't need to know, so soon in his life, about the violent, devious nature of politics… the nature that had infected all of those closest to him but had, miraculously, passed him by.

"Uncle." Iroh grunted and placed the mask on the low table, coming to stand by Zuko. The look he gave his nephew was adamant in its undertones and, even if he had been inclined to ask, Zuko would not have received a further explanation on his Uncle's faltering proverb.

It worked out, since he was not inclined to ask.

"Uncle, I want this man removed below deck. When he regains consciousness I want to be the first to know… This is a private matter."

Iroh held his nephew's eyes. He nodded when Zuko showed no deviation, unsure if his secrecy was wise but loyal all the same.

"I will take care of it, Prince Zuko. Meanwhile, I suspect you have other matters you wish to investigate?"

"Yes, Uncle."


End file.
